


Anointed

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Lucina has one last place to go, one last effort to make before she comits herself to trying to unmake the end of all things.If only it didn't mean giving up someone precious.After all, she'd done her best all this time.





	Anointed

**Author's Note:**

> _prompt:_ "apocalyptic survivors"

There wasn't much of the castle left standing. Gods, there wasn't much of _Ylisse_ left standing -- or anywhere else for that matter -- which was exactly why she was scrabbling through rubble and rotting tapestries to reach one small battered flight of steps leading down, down, oh gods, oh Naga please let the stairs not be blocked, let there still be a way --

Shoving aside fragments of a toppled pillar, Lucina swore under her breath. Control; she needed to get herself under control. The mask was only going to hide so much. She needed practice before making the leap into the past.

_Practice I don't have time for here._

She could _make_ time, of course; hunker down in the charred, rotting shell of a manor or a townhouse and walk through the motions for the thousandth thousandth time. As long as she lived to go back, it didn't matter.

The fact that every hour she stayed in the world's shattered husk moved her death that much closer to reality? Now that, _that_ mattered.

But not as much as the goal that lay beyond that short flight of rubble-strewn steps.

She would not leave without saying goodbye one last time.

-*-

"I'm sorry I never cleaned everything up, but there wasn't much choice. I needed to prioritize. Ah … I know I've said that before, but -- if this works, if we do change fate, then …"

Lucina's gaze had shifted to trace long-dried and dusty bloodstains while she spoke. The thin trails, spotty and agonizing, marked the stairs she'd clawed her way down and weaved down the short hallway, across the floor of the tiny shrine-that-was-a-storeroom, to end at the feet of her silent companion where he sat in eternal vigil. That companion, she pulled her attention back to now --

"… If we change what happens, then …"

\-- was it surprising how much this hurt? no, never, never --

"… Then this is probably the last time I'll ever see you."

Through tear-filled eyes Lucina -- carefully, so carefully -- took a parchment-and-bone hand into her own.

"Father … I'll miss you so much."

She was sure she could feel the sigh in the still air. A sigh, and the pressure of warning; the sure knowledge that if _they_ found this tiny place after all this time it'd be a moment's work to seal her in alongside him. 

It was a risk she chose. 

If she was to leave forever, then her father would face the final end with everything she could offer, and that meant no shirking on this, their final day. Lucina spared a final glance for the stairwell, checked her glass-shard lamp, and limbered the pitiful bundle from her shoulder. At least by Naga's mercy she -- here, at the end -- had finally acquired properly blessed oils for him.

With practiced ease Lucina unwove painstaking handmade chains, unhooked plates of armour still stained beneath the dust, drew bloodstained robes open. Even now, even drawn closed with wire of gold and steel, that savage wound …

_I can't dwell on that today. I don't have time; what I do have, it's for him, not for me._

In some places she saw pale bone instead of tissue-thin flesh. That was normal, as far as she knew, as the slow work of time and dust and her ministrations did their work. She had timeworn memories of others, better kept, properly adorned, and it seemed to match.

The moment she worked the stopper free, the still air filled with the scent of cedar and myrrh. Her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed; not now, not while she worked. Slowly, gently, she worked the softly golden fluid across her father's thin flesh, massaging with fingertips as light as feathers. Carefully, carefully. It was already, surely, better than what she'd had to work with before. 

"Being able to do this -- I wish I could've done more. We all do. I -- I'm sure you felt …"

Curse the tears. Pausing, Lucina scrubbed at her face with the back of one hand. The last thing she needed to do was get anything wet …

Precious moments trickled by; moments Lucina spent staring at the fall of tattered linen that served as her father's makeshift veil, willing herself to show some control. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she drew a ragged breath and bent back to her task.

By the time she'd finished, the flame in her makeshift lamp guttered warningly, but she didn't care. She'd taken all the time she cared to, throwing herself into her work; oils worked carefully into skin, bone gently polished, dark rough hair held with a coronet she'd beaten from broken blades. Every last bit of regalia she'd recovered fragments of set into place, woven into the bloodstained royal robes, wired into him.

That hideous wound bound, adorned, hidden yet acknowledged.

But now, now -- she knew, beyond all doubt, that she was out of time. She needed to go.

She needed to unmake all the horrors. The death and the damnation and the sickness in the very soil. All was lost to the Fell beast's touch. All of it. The world was lost, and this was their last chance.

Even if …

Now-empty phials were packed into the small leather sack. Bits of wire and broken metal, unneeded, joined them; a few scraps of royal velvets, likewise. Nothing would be left behind, her best effort, at the last, at cleansing the small chamber. Once above ground again, she'd try to topple masonry across the topmost steps …

"I'll miss you so much, Father."

It was time. It _was_. So, with trembling hands, she lifted the tattered veil and pressed one final kiss to her father's face --

"I'll make you proud."

The tears threatened again; this time she didn't fight. She _did_ let go, while every fibre of her being screamed at her for it. And the moment her father's face was lost behind stained linen, Lucina took to her heels and fled for the tiny corridor and its broken steps. 

There was no time; she couldn't stay.

She hoped he understood.


End file.
